


War

by KathyRoland



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-12
Updated: 2011-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-19 07:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathyRoland/pseuds/KathyRoland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Battle lines are drawn between brothers, trenches are dug and weapons are assembled.  This is war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War

Sherlock knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into the flat. John, as was his usual habit on Sundays when Sherlock wasn’t dragging him on a case, was sitting in his chair with the crossword spread out before him and a pen in his hand.

John attempted to act casual as he greeted Sherlock, but he had never been a good actor. Something was clearly amusing to him, and he was barely able to keep from full out laughter. If he was trying to keep his amusement hidden from Sherlock, it meant that his amusement was about Sherlock.

“What?” Sherlock demanded.

John gulped and shifted his weight. “Nothing.” He winced as he said it, noting how high his voice was.

Sherlock’s eyes flitted around the room, cataloging everything. Ah.

“Mycroft was here.” He stated.

The barely suppressed mirth bubbled up again in John’s body language. John nodded and fastened his eyes on the word puzzle in front of him so he didn’t have to look at Sherlock. He stared at one place on the paper and studiously didn’t look away from it.

“Well, what did he want?” Sherlock ground out.

“He was a mite peeved with your interference in the latest case. Apparently, he had to smooth over a lot of ruffled feathers. Said he had given you ample warning not to behave in your usual manner when speaking to those members of parliament.” Again, a spasm of glee crossed John’s face. He still wouldn’t look at Sherlock.

Sherlock was tempted to dismiss it as usual, but clearly Mycroft had done something, no doubt in an effort to “persuade” Sherlock to follow his directions next time. But something had affected John, something that was Mycroft’s doing.

“What did he do?” Sherlock asked impatiently.

John’s eyes flickered over to his laptop. “Apparently, the government has taken control of my blog.” His shoulders started to shake with the effort not to laugh. “He assures me I will have editing capabilities back in five days time.”

Swiftly, Sherlock took the laptop and opened the browser to John’s blog. There, a large photo in the middle of the page was a picture of Sherlock taken sometime in his teens. Sherlock quivered with rage. It wasn’t so much the posting of an unauthorized picture of him, it was the subject of the picture. In it, a stunned Sherlock was staring at the results of an unadvisable experiment he had run that had exploded. The stunned expression on his face was comical enough for the usual idiots, Sherlock thought in the back of his mind, but what really made the picture was the fact that all his hair, from his eyebrows to the hair on top of his head had been burnt away in the explosion. There was a layer of soot on his face as well.

Sherlock immediately set to work trying to bring down the picture. As expected, John’s password didn’t allow him access, but the other more underhanded and legally questionable actions did nothing either. Mycroft was determined to make a point. Sherlock’s rage grew higher and higher the more times he was thwarted.

Looking over to John, Sherlock could see he would be getting no sympathy from his flatmate. The flatmate who had given up on trying to hold in his amusement and was outright laughing.

A horrible thought occurred to Sherlock- it wasn’t only John and potential clients of Sherlock that would be looking at the picture, but the whole of the Met. Everyone from Lestrade to that buffoon Anderson would see it. Sherlock saw red.

“This is war.” He declared.

John stopped chuckling to look over apprehensively. Clearly, Sherlock had been pushed past a limit. He gulped.

 

Mycroft allowed himself a slight smile as he indulged in his usual cup of morning tea as he relaxed in his office. Life was surprisingly good. His recent successes in his position had been fruitful and yielded great gains politically and he had been able to strike a precise blow at his brother. No doubt Sherlock would be sulking for the foreseeable future, but with any luck he will have learnt his lesson.

“Good morning, sir.” His assistant swept into the office with her usual grace carrying the expected files of paper work that Mycroft would need to sign off on. There was something… odd in her inflection, though. Likely, no one but Mycroft would have noticed it- not even Sherlock, but something was there.

“Any problems I need to deal with immediately?” Mycroft asked his usual question while focusing his entire mental processes on her.

There- a definite twitch of her lips as she looked up at Mycroft.

“Nothing immediate.” She replied smoothly.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, letting her know what he was silently asking.

“Your brother apparently has found my personal email address.” She offered in answer, before switching to her overview of the appointments and itinerary he had scheduled for the day.

After she had completed her report and left his office, Mycroft logged in to his computer and accessed her email. As he expected, there was an email from his brother. He felt vaguely apprehensive when he noted that it contained a video file attached to it with no text. With slight trepidation, he opened it to discover a scene he had previously thought to have erased all evidence of. He felt the blood drain from his face as he watched a younger, completely drunk university student dance in high heels and belt out his rendition of “Sweet Transvestite” in front of his equally drunk peers. This was taken from the much regrettable period of Mycroft’s life when he had considered a career in the theater. Random cat-calls and cheers were in the background, but the video focused solely on Mycroft’s performance.

He quickly stopped the video and erased all digital remnants that it had ever appeared in his assistant’s inbox. Nothing, he knew, would be able to erase it from her memory though.

Conceding defeat in this battle, he canceled the lockdown he had in place on Dr. Watson’s blog and emailed Sherlock that editorial power was once more restored to 221B Baker St. In less than two minutes, the picture was off the website.

He had lost the battle. But he hadn’t received the position he currently held without the knowledge of how to effectively win a war. Even a war against his brother.


End file.
